


The Queen Of Lyreem

by thedoongha



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Devil Trigger (Devil May Cry), Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Sin Devil Trigger (Devil May Cry), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29168613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedoongha/pseuds/thedoongha
Summary: After an implanted plague by the kingdom of Goziga, the lyritiam King Sparda tries to once for all seal the old war by having the elder of his twins married to a woman both gozigan and lyritiam so the next queen could bring the peace, but the prince is against the idea of a needing a queen to rule.
Relationships: Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**INTERLUDE** (a strange visitor)

* * *

_“Ne mehani el Lyreem etrita.”_

_(The queen is Lyreem’s light of life.)_

* * *

The Spring night in Stydiam composed itself of a dark blue sky, illuminated by uncounted stars and a full moon high standing between the sparkles, in the horizon, the dashes from the purple and green rings embracing the entire land could be seen perfectly due to the hot wing breezing from the South, right from Xayz and Zayx, the same twins lands that hide the aurora borealis in the Winter. The silence was a domain in the trees and grass, just a blowing of leaves and flowers, while the colors were bright and bathed in incandescent moonlight concentrated in a vast garden behind the biggest property through the province. On the limits, the home for the Duke and Duchess, far from the center where the people lived, but close enough to prove the duchy they were watching for them. 

The manor was built by the own family, hands on hands, brick over brick, the rosé walls with golden details were friendly to foreign eyes, only a tower in the center surrounded by windows and the high gate containing the blue blood emblem. Under, two soldiers were standing in the royal uniform, the eyes under the hats watching the road to the opening with maximum focus. It was late, but they were informed to expect a carriage coming in a rush to visit the Mesfiles family, for an important business, so important and in such a rush that in the first sign of the visitor coming, they had to allow them inside the faster possible. A sound of rocks smashing under heels came first, then the light flickering through the leaves with four horses running down the road, the coachman had the leathers on only one hand, waving a purple scarf in the air with the other to the soldiers, both already opening the front gates. 

A perfect timing of the carriage going inside the walls, from the soldiers closing the entering gate, the front double doors for the manor were wide, a woman waiting by them, not clear if she just had woke or just sleepy, the bangs under the brown eyes were dark, the hair combed in a confusing braid by the shoulder, reaching lower than the dress waist, on the arms a huge scarf. The silk gloves slide on the handles, nervously once the carriage stopped by the stairs, the coachman was not able to help the visitor on the way out. He was making his way already when the horses stopped, a pale face, a hand on the mouth and a dry out cough, shaking his torso and neck. The clothes were made of purple velvet, golden medals, and the boots had a beautiful gloss in the night. The handsome face not escaping the moonlight, shimmering in an inhuman nature. 

He jumped the stairs with long legs, no proper welcome, but a warm, calm stare at the woman, not a single exchange of words, in the intimacy of a long term friendship, they couldn’t care for formal curtsy. Taking a closer look, he seemed ill, seemed desperate, however peaceful concerned. There was no wrinkles on his eyes, although they should be there as a frame for the comfortable, piercing eyes, battling the eyelashes with tears. The last time they were reunited, dressed in black, mourning felt like too long ago, and there was a great feeling of being close to her. The moment couldn’t be favored better, when she gave a small smile and pointed at the first door by the left, adorned with flowers. The clicking of boots were low, quiet, almost enough to not be heard at all. A deep breath before revealing himself to the room. 

The fireplace was lighted, the windows closed by the curtains, the pastel green and blue decoration meant a simple room with a piano to be used after the dinner for entertainment. They were waiting for him, a father and a daughter, who, upon his arrival, stood up and bowed. Both with familiar traces, an inside joke between the couple from the mother carrying her child for months only for her own daughter to be born with the father’s genes. Yet somehow she managed to stand out in the mixture of different lineages, her mother land blessing her with the long, long curls of her hair, falling past her corset, the amethyst on her necklace was peaking through ever so slightly on her lacy cleavage. He saw her youth on the salient cheekbones, a strong, yet feminine beauty of innocence present on her lips, voluptuous just like her father, the skin golden close to the fire’s red and orange, accentuating the most interesting point of her, under the long eyelashes, a pair of lilac eyes blessed by the Goddess herself to signal Her approval, matched by the lilac colors of her skirt. 

“ _Meha,_ good night,” her voice echoed along the wood burning, soft. Her father, behind her, placed a gentle hand on her back, indicating she should sit. And she did, visibly confused by the late visit of her own King. 

“Good night, Lyss,” a tiny smile opened on his lips when he also bowed to her, it had been years since he last saw her, little, chubby legs running on the garden under the sun with a summer, her mother yelling her name while the laughter was louder, the hair a mess on the wind, the black locks free in between the nature. She had changed, a bit taller, not much, but significant, this time with shoes on, clean clothes with a tamed spirit he hoped still lived deep inside. 

He changed a look with her father of nods, almost like brothers while the mother joined at least, and closed the door. The king didn’t need to be excused or invited to sit, he just did, the same way his Queen Eva did when in Stydiam, his fingers crossed on his lap, a little tension on his posture, but the kind serious eyes never leaving her eyes. 

“Lyss, please, listen carefully to the King,” her mother warned, settling on her side. The matriarch aware of the business. 

“Please, Torey, don’t scare her,” the husband held his daughter’s shoulders, eyeing her with hard eyes. “The matter is complicated enough.”

The King cleared his throat, both for attention and to hold back another cof trying to fight a way through the thin lips. “Well, Lyss, I have thought about the right words to say to you, however I think the issue I hope you could help me there is no…” Sparda stopped by a moment, looking at her big purple eyes, they were mixed. “Way I could say it without sounding alarming, so I would prefer to be honest, this way, you can think of the matter and be honest to me too.” 

She was quiet, listening, the hands resting on her lap, the ruffle of her big skirt supporting the cool manner she tried to transmit.

“Our captains in The Wall had informed me they suffered an attack from Goziga two weeks ago, the exact date we should be mourning the second year we lost our Queen,” his strong voice stopped for a second, the miss of his wife playing along the lines, until the long fingers started to take off the gloves, a hesitant moment for both, and he continued. “This concerns me to the point of us suffering another war in such critical timing. I know what I ask is more than I could, but your father is a great man, and he has passed you something no other woman in this land has, a mixed blood in your veins. I believe this could be the answer to end once for all the feeling of being an enemy in the other lands.” 

It was true, the one sitting across him was the only woman in the Kingdom to be of a fruit of love by the Duchess of Stydiam from Lyreem and the second son of an influential family from Mawala, the capital of Goziga. A forbidden romantic love story of enemies colliding into marriage and fighting against the norms. And there she was, a child of future peace for both kingdoms, the final deal to seal away death and despair. 

“My elder twin, Vergil, has enough age to rule and I am certain you will be a perfect Queen for Lyreem too, if you please, accept my proposal.” 

Lyss inhaled, tensed at the words, the hands of her father heavy on her shoulders. It was who she was then, the future Queen. 


	2. CHAPTER ONE (four spades, four spardas)

**CHAPTER ONE** (four spades, four spardas)

* * *

As expected of life, Lyss saw herself bathed in more she had in her entire life, it was a divine pleasure of her wealthy family for both mother and father, her baggage took place of two carriages in the ride to the Capitol, the servants were sweating by the time they finished loaded the heavy boxes, a longing sad happiness on their eyes as the purple child from the Manor was leaving to fulfill the duty of growing up; nobody knew exactly what happened for her to be needed at the heart of the kingdom, her destiny was by the beautiful garden in her home, grow to find a loving partner and become the Duchess. And it remained a mystery why the Duchess herself pushed the duties of her land to the side to take care of her daughter, in the way she was present, demanding new jewelry, clothes, shoes and tiaras, those that were big enough to prove a point nobody understood, what they knew was only that one morning Torey placed one of those on top of her daughter’s head and said aloud the Goddess was far too kind to them. 

It was nerve-wracking somehow, she was taught by the finest tutors of History, Etiquette, Language, Laws, Combat and Arts, knowledge precisely made for a future aristocrat, however she was never taught how to be a Queen. Her heart pumped on her chest with the word. Her. The future Queen. A long path ahead she still needed to focus to become as great as Queen Eva and all the monarchs before her, honor the title passing through impeccable women preceding her. She would also become the second Mehani under the Sparda household, maintaining her future husband’s name to plead blessings from his mother. 

She still remembered the last time she saw the golden hair locked in a braid by the garden, the diamonds shining in the daylight in both earrings and crown, an omnipotent presence with a motherly smile when she held the girl’s hands with her delicate ones, no gloves, only long red nails to match the color of the cloak. She was both intimidating and caring in the way she spoke, a life by the Palace paid off in the most regal form Lyss had ever met, she also remembered the Queen came by Stydiam for her 21 birthday party, and leaving only after a whole week spent with her mother, the two friends from childhood, a lot to catch up. In her goodbye, Mehani Eva stared at Lyss with a piercing stare, complimenting her lilac eyes, and leaving her with a book. _The Love And Curse Of Falore._ A special edition to the lore of a soldier so handsome the Goddess Herself couldn’t resist, so She fed him a curse for his days. 

The Queen died three years later, and Lyss never truly thanked her for the book or said goodbye, staying back home while her parents departed to the Capitol for the funeral. A victim of the plague along her people, bringing a dark time for Lyreem, no Queen to bless the lands. Sadly, her children had been men, twins, and both unmarried, unable to rise to the throne, leaving King Sparda alone to rule, becoming the target of rumors that he would take the whole Kingdom to a downfall without a woman on the power.

Until her, of course. There was no plan, Sparda invited her to meet the Capitol first, become a guest by the Palace and become acquainted with Metri Vergil, so they could decide properly and under covers to seem they were very much in love, not tied by a political decision. It was nice of him to consider how desperate he was to keep Lyreem away from war. It would be good to meet her future partner before walking the altar to him with no clue of who he was. 

Lyss forced her own long nails on her palms thinking about him. Prince Vergil was nothing but a whisper here and there. Exclusive to himself as Lyss herself was hidden for all her life in the duchy. The people spoke about him, but rarely saw the face of the man who would become their King, they only had a portrait of the family in the museums. A rather luxurious face behind his mother, the hair mimicked the white silvery on a tamed hairstyle, but she never had a chance to stare at the portrait, she heard only, the maids who travelled and returned with tales of him and his special brother, Prince Dante, the one meeting with his own people, the inside of the country, while the elder travelled overseas to matters of the economy. 

It wouldn’t be a fairy tale, Lyss had the knowledge of that. It wouldn’t happen as suddenly as a glimpse of her in the crowd, the tailored dress she wore specially to catch his attention in a temptation for love, and he became in a blink persuaded by the overwhelming feeling of marrying her. No. Yet, she expected at least the comfort of friends sealing a deal to invoke peace, perhaps he would even teach her two or three to help her adapt to the reality in the Palace, and waking up next to him wouldn’t be totally unpleasant neither – for the twins were born from the gorgeous Eva and the strongest warrior the late Queen was bewitched by, a man capable of ascending to throne by his captivating beauty. Lyss was also aware of that, specifically, not of Vergil’s features but his father’s. Admitting herself the later had a somewhat spell over women, her younger past would remain speechless upon his presence, admiring the face of a man who seemed peaceful and dangerous at the same time; and if his son had even a quarter of him, she would be able to wake up to a perfect vision to grace her day. 

Pushing her thought to the back of her mind, Lyss focused on her own reflection by the mirror, the dawn was peeking through the window behind the dresser in dashes of orange, yellow and lilac, adorning her cheeks, sparkling on the long eyelashes, a kiss of colors on her unique feature, the lilac irises contoured by the sparkles of a glittery silver eyeshadow. The waves unleashed upon her nude corset were darker than ever, the brown framing the tan her skin took in Spring and Summer by the countryside. A lock was pulled back slightly, the careful fingers of the maid soon styling it behind her head for the start of a complicated braid. 

The night coming was the decisive one of her life. She was a guest at her aunt’s house for a week then, preparing to at last meet her fiancé in the Spring ball on the Palace, the event before her departure to live by their side, it would seem natural, of course, a ball, a talk, a dance, and an invite to spend more time together, but her mother and aunt would never let her leave the house looking less than perfect. She was fond of the idea, even if it didn’t mean anything, she could walk around in one of her simple summer dresses and the scene would play out to end in the same outcomes. She stopped for a second, the hands opening on her lap to reveal the white of the nails. She was _shaking_ , calming herself by thinking that maybe in the Palace, Prince Vergil would be too.

By the time the maid finished her hair, the sky was filled with stars and a full moon, the night on the Capitol was different, the air was chillier, the twin lands were not by the horizon to wish her good luck, instead just a dark blue immensity of low humidity, allowing her dress to accommodate her body without the usual prison around her skin in the heat of Spring. The undergarment was a golden silk while her cleavage remained supported with inches of nudity to appeal to the big stone laying between her clavicles, a pendant with the almost invisible thin line to keep her safe, the stone of the Kingdom a symbol every women carried to have the Goddess close to their hearts. On the legs, a clear pair of stockings finishing with the silver shoes, heels higher than she was used to, and the maid offered her the puff round skirt first, buttoning around the waist, as she helped with the utterly delicate dress slide down her torso, carefully with the hair and make up. 

Soft knocks on the door resonated through the room until it opened slowly, first the red nails coming to hold it middle way, then a head appearing, the silver hair and the face familiar to her mother’s, the narrowed brown eyes under thick eyebrows, the skin wrinkled and growing as the age was proudly wore along the green silk of her long sleeves dress. Upon seeing her niece, the woman opened the burgundy lips in a sensitive smile, waiting by the frame for the finish touch of a tiara right on top of Lyss’ head, as if she was already taking the position of the Queen.

“You look gorgeous, dear,” her voice captured Lyss, who only turned the face to stare at her aunt, her rosy lips tried to mirror the smile, yet her muscles were too tense to even think about relaxing completely like that, her fingers played with each other in front of her. Layre noticed it, slightly relaxing the shoulders to demonstrate everything would be just fine. “I’m sure everyone will think the same.”

Lyss nodded once, lazily, giving herself one last look to make sure she was fine, the crystals sparkling as snowflakes in the deep winter. “Isn’t it too extravagant?” 

Layre chuckled, the hand on the handle allowing the door to open completely, an invitation to the younger to leave the room with her. “No, it is not.”

So she moved door ahead, passing through the elaborated hallway, wealth from the creme wallpaper to the decorations from diverse cultures, from travels beyond the Great Wall, political missions from the Counsel in sisterslands, specially Wutiai to maintain the alliance of the only two Matriarchal Kingdoms in the Continente, as aunt Layre happily passed the family title to her younger sister so she could pursue her career to serve the crown without marriage or children. A warmth filled her chest with the thought of her aunt being a familiar face among the crowd when she was sitting on the throne, the First Amethyst on her left hand, the Nyx Spectre on her right hand and Queen Eva’s last crown on top of her head. 

The carriage waited by the entrance as the driver gave the two ladies a hand to help, and Lyss easily moved to the window to watch the streets and people walking by, the lights were by the tall trees and gates as if the whole capital knew what would succeed by midnight. 

The road to the Palace was quick where other carriages formed a clear line to enter through the tall gates, her eyes sparkled upon seeing the architecture for the first time. High, almost touching the moon which gave the white walls a blue hue, huge to even her, who grew up running hectares and hectares of the manor, the windows were opened, flowers of every kind fluorescing around their frames to breathe the air of their season, the details golden and opulent as the darkness behind was a view of the immense garden hidden on the backyard, the fount in front of the entrance stairs made by ceramic, the sculpted Goddess with Her female body circulated by nature, the water running from Her hands, as life was created by those and Lyss pushed her mouth into a line, soon it would also be her home. 

“It is magical in the Winter,” her aunt commented across her, voice calm also in hypnoses by the scene. Every single time in the Palace felt like the very first time. 

The carriage advanced on the line, giving the vision of the guests going up stairs, men and women dressed in glamorous clothes, silks and taffetas, gowns and jackets, smiles everywhere and Lyss felt a rush. Never before, she had attended a ball, and she hoped for a friend or two that night, her aunt’s influence helping people to approach her. When it was finally her turn to exit, Layer got off first, waiting patiently for Lyss to hold her many layers of organza to step out, head immediately forward and up to see the magic close. Soon, _home_. And for those long seconds of the stairs and the big double doors, her mind was free to admire the beauty of the inside, the tall ceiling, the chandelier, being sucked into the music coming from the north wing, where the ballroom was filled with dancing, talking and music, a broad space with doors up to the roof, a passage to the illuminated balcony, the pastel colors of lilac, baby blue and pink were incandescent on the columns. Her heels clicked in the last pull of string from the violin, clapping filling the pleasant atmosphere, and she stopped, eyes seeking every single face for a smile she could reciprocate. She felt childish, extremely enchanted by a fairytale Palace. 

The music didn’t come back, instead the dancers directed their faces and clapping to a special point in the right corner of the room, where in a platform, an imposing throne was located, arabesques with purple velvet and Lyss noticed the man using the tiny steps to get up on there, the boots black and a deep purple jacket with medals and sash, the broad shoulders with black epaulettes creating an athletic build formed in the youth as a soldier. She felt her aunt coming to hold her elbow, and quickly turned, the smile on.

“We will present you, the King just finished his dance, it’s the perfect time!” Layre said, in a whisper by the tiny diamond of her ear, confabulating the inevitable, specially for when the crowd went back to chatting, more of the silvery white peaked out from them. “The Princes! Come, Lyss!” 

As they found their way through to the throne platform, people indeed came to greet her aunt who dismissed them with a nod and a nice tiny hello, eventually their eyes would stop at her and her gown or tiara, leaving them with a puzzled face behind as they never lost a step to reach their goal. 

Lyss could swear her heart was beating louder and everyone could hear it through her chest, increasing and increasing as she was closer and closer to the dashes of white in the ballroom, pushing through the dance floor, and immediately, as if she had screamed out loud she was there, the pair of the eyes from the father locked with her. The intensity of those blue, not any emotion upon seeing her and her statement with the dress, the bare movement was a tiny curve on the corner of his lips when seeing her on her aunt’s arms, as if he was relieved she was fulfilling her part of the deal. They reached the front of the throne as nobody would stand in the view, forming a free passage for their high heels, mere meters away from the three men. 

Her heart stopped with an inhale when she saw him.

The twins were right by the steps, one by the first and the other by the floor, respectively on each side of their father. And they both stared at her, not identical though, each a different mirror to the parents. Eva and Sparda, Dante and Vergil. 

The mother’s son was Dante, of course, heir to the thin lips under a straight prominent nose, a rounder face with cheeks pushed into the bones to a playful, sincere smile, the teeth as charming as the small eyes, those a mixture of blue and green as the sea by the border, obfuscated by the long white hair falling over the thin, low eyebrows, almost silver. He wore a red jacket with the golden medals and epaulettes to demonstrate the broad shoulders and long torso on top of black pants and high boots up to his knees, he was tall. Really tall, yet an aura able to pull closer, to invite people around him, and she knew why his people were so in love with their younger prince. He stopped talking to his father the moment he saw her, and perhaps he knew who she was to be, because he had the same warmth when his smile closed to curved lips and salient cheeks his mother offered every time she was by the duchy. And Lyss knew he would be a great friend to her, and she would never let him go to war. 

By the floor, closer to her, stood the other, the elder twin she was taught about before, Prince Vergil with the mask of his father’s prime years on, the resemble was impeccable, on the faded out eyebrows, the lean shape of his cheeks with a noble jawline and chin, the lips were meaty, rosy and delicate even, as inviting as it should be. The color of his skin was rather pale, allowing the eyes to be the main point to stare at, a silver blue, glassy almost with piercing pupils as if he was reading all her secrets and fears. There was a pinch on his forehead, a menace lying under the pores of his perfect complexion, a superior air around his entire body, running from the veins on his neck down to his broad shoulders and long legs. He carried himself still, but managed to be intimidating, a tower hovering in the middle of ordinary men and women, a magnificent man with knowledge of that. From the dark blue jacket on his fit, slender physique, to the tilt chin upon watching everyone, the arms were in front of him, white gloves with interlaced long fingers. 

Lyss felt tiny, losing her confidence in herself just by the cold dementor he was, but she took strength from her aunt who didn’t fringe under that intense stare, only walked slower, as if they were both prey to that man and his pressuring expression. 

In the clue of presenting herself, her dress started to shine through the ball, closer to the royal family, a sight not common after a woman’s twenty-first birthday. She could feel the new stares on her back and head, as her aunt let go of her arm so they could walk parallel, closer and closer to the three men. 

And it all down to the brunette waves lingering on her temples, and to the white crystal dress that reminded the gardens of the Palace in the middle of the winter when snow was coming slowly from the sky, and laying on the puffy grass, covering the flowers as a second skin, and Lyreem was frozen as a sculpture of ice. The braids were well done, every single lock was held and executed with care in the way it couldn't hide the big amethyst on her neck, even if it tried, wouldn’t be possible, the silver necklace was a different kind, it had the opening on the front as the purple stone was just floating between the two thin lines by the sides, the shape brutal like no hands ever touched it before; just came deep from the earth and still shined like cleaned for the first time. The top of her immaculate cleavage revealed the short breaths, following the movements of chest, rising and falling in a calm, composed manner as she tried to keep together. The shimmery of the corset was made of baby blue satin under a layer of small crystals, embracing the beautiful sides curves in arabesques forms, creeping their path to the center where they would meet and slightly not touch, instead, they dropped in larger to the hips, where they opened in a long, fluffy skirt and there was no more blue organza, just an enormous tutu, every single inch with a little diamond. It supposed to mean something, and everybody knew already. 

She gave a bow by the Prince, the small fingers grasping the dress gently, her long white nails carefully missing between the shine and the light of the room reflected spots on her hair as the head was bent, and a rainbow shine of diamonds was dancing on the top of her breasts, as the amethyst was still by the collarbones, not moving at all. 

Vergil lifted his stare to the long, curled eyelashes reaching the pink cheeks, the nose was slim, and the color of her pouting, filled lips was burned pink. A face full of delicate features, one of the kinds of muses he read in the romantic books, usually portrayed by the innocent, purity of an angel, they would have wings in the paintings, and the exact pair of lips, as a whisper of love was coming out. Soft, too soft, a breakable poem. The moment she looked at him, could fool by the beginning, but the round orbs were as the sky in the dawn, bright shoots of purple into a white immensity mixed, becoming the dreamy shade of lilac. And she had it, right there inside the iris of her eyes, more outstanding by the black lines her lashes formed.

But he didn’t seem surprised or enchanted, nothing moved, his stare at her own eyes was trying to say something she couldn't decipher, a vision of a future she was not expecting, neither the fairy tale or the friendly companion by her side. He remained silent. 

“ _Meha Sparda, Metri Vergil_ , _Metri Dante_ ,” Layre used their mother language in a welcoming tone, smiling despise the exchange Lyss and Vergil were in. “Allow me to introduce my dear niece, Lyss Karenina Melfinis, daughter of the Duchess and Duke Melfinis of Stydiam.”

The soon to be Queen of Lyreem was silent. 

“Lady Lyss,” Sparda’s voice echoed strong and husky, immediately standing to walk back to where they were, the same tiny smile on his lips, the boots sounded on the steps as once next to Dante, Lyss noticed they were both the same extreme height. “Welcome to the Capital!”

She bowed again, not finding her voice anywhere to greet him properly, her throat was as suffocated by the Prince in front of her and the serious dismissal of her he had. Sparda approached, Dante following behind, until they were all close enough to a more private talk, even in the scene everyone was watching. 

“Are you liking the city?” he asked in a small talk they were not able to rehearse before. “Too different from the border?”

“Yes,” Lyss tried to answer without cracking her voice, her corset too tight on her lungs and the hair on her nape standing. “I’m grateful my aunt is here to guide me through.”

“These are my sons, Vergil and Dante,” Sparda lifted his hands only enough, signaling to one then another, remaining calm and in control of the situation. “Perhaps you can enjoy their company in one of your next tours throughout the Capital.” 

Dante, unlike his brother who was a ghost to them, nodded to the idea, welcoming her presence in a small bow to her high title. 

“It will be a pleasure,” he assured in a charming voice, lips curling nicely. 

“And a great help!” Layre spoke, feeling the insecurity of her niece with the cold stare. “I am leaving for a trip soon and I’m afraid she will be bored by herself at home.”

“Of course!” Sparda exclaimed, a master of the small talks with her aunt. For they both worked together since Queen Eva passed away, they were able to read the room and the feelings together, without effort, they were commanding the conversation the way they wanted it to go. 

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Lyss said, automatically so she wouldn’t seem so fake to the people watching. 

“Vergil,” he almost whispered, assuring the underline command with a single hand resting by his son’s shoulder, turned to reveal his sharp jawline as Vergil still stared at her in that strange way, and if Lyss listened close enough, she would be able to hear more than only one voice when the name was called. “Why don’t you invite Lady Lyss to dance?”

Vergil didn’t react to the order, feeling the palm and fingers pressing his shoulder a bit too much with the silence, and Sparda held his free arm to the musicians with a simple snap, which they answered to a violin beginning a Waltz. Lyss waited for his hand to take her to the dance floor, in long seconds that felt an eternity, awkwardness filling the air as Vergil didn’t, as everybody else waited for the prince to show respect for the daughter of the Duchess. 

_Now._ Sparda only moved his lips with no sound, closing the hand on the shoulder completely, before a skilled invisible push that nobody noticed, yet Vergil didn’t. 

Vergil didn’t and wouldn’t move, it was clear on those angry glassy eyes, that he would not for a second agree with what was happening to him, and his father could even break his shoulder in the middle of the ball, and his boots were not ungluing from the porcelain floor, his gloves were not invite the woman to dance. The only emotion was his hard jawline glitching to the touch on his epaulette, and nothing. 

Lyss suddenly felt the urge to hide herself from embarrassment, her heart skipped beats to the rejection that only crushed her reality of how it would be, and her face fell. 

“Instead, allow me,” a glove came for her, white as well, a big palm with heat and she accepted as her head was down, on the floor. 

Her small hand was engulfed by the big fingers, closed and secured when Dante took the first step to be by her side, a smooth rescue and Lyss let him guide her to the dance floor, turning their backs to Vergil, Sparda and her aunt who as just everybody else, watched Prince Dante with Lady Lyss on the dance floor. 

She was finally able to breathe properly when they stopped, thinking of thanking the man, and running home after the first dance, yet when she was ready to become face to face with him, Dante gave her wrist a quickly turn which she followed, surprised, spinning nicely, her skirt opening in a beautiful sight of the shimmering crystals, the organza serene and windy as he then pulled her weakly against him, the other hand creeping on her lower back.

Lyss automatically rested her on his golden epaulette, fighting the struggle of their heights, and he guided her to the first count of the Waltz, closer, his smell was sweet, and Lyss looked up as her feet followed him. Dante was smiling, full teeth, looking at her with ease, the same manner he danced. 

“Please forgive my brother,” he started, between the 1, 2, 3 count of the Waltz, voice low and secret for only the two of them. Around, other couples joined them, and Dante stopped just in time for the two hands to join by her waist, circulating it and lifting her as if she weighted nothing, and Lyss held both his shoulders, reaching high in the air before he brought her back to the floor, hands back to their first location and the feet moving back to the one, two, three. “He is just worried about the future.”

“He didn’t seem worried,” Lyss commented back, the corset tighter than ever on her lungs, a discomfort of being there, and she cut herself to spin softly on his arms. “Only unhappy.” 

Dante chuckled, lowering the white eyelashes in his cordial personality, the sound of over the violins was refreshing and enjoyable, it came directly from his chest which she felt on her own, a kind of rumbling, connecting her to him then to the Palace, as a bridge to the life promised to her, even her muscles relaxed then. 

“In time, you will get used to it,” he flashed her again, a distraction perhaps from the bigger issue she would come to face. _Marry an unwilling man._ “He will eventually accept it.”

Lyss for some reason smiled, until she was pulled closer to his chest, enough for her cleavage to rub gently on the fabric of his jacket, the buttons cold and a wave of emanating heat coming from the handmade velvet, she tried not to shiver, yet failing when she held her face up to look at the handsome traces on his cheeks and jawline, the smile quite alluring and the white hair molding it. “I suppose.”

“You will have plenty of time with him later,” Dante said in a lower tone, still staring at her. 

Lyss swallowed dry, feeling a dissimilar type of tiny with her breathing uneven. She would answer him, but the music came to an end and before her mouth opened, Dante distanced himself slowly, clapping on his gloves to her, she mimicked, clapping her hands in his direction as his smile was amusing. “Thank you for the dance.”

“It is my pleasure,” it was a statement, an appealing one helping her to forget the fiasco with his brother and smile shyly at that. 

Lyss never before had any type of contact like that to any gentleman, in her birthday parties men were cousins from her father’s side or from the servants’ family, and they danced with her, joked and laughed, however she grew with them, what caused an image of a forever child, an innocent girl crawling up the trees with bare feet and always falling from them. The first time she danced with a man that wasn’t a friend or family and saw her for what she was. A woman. She knew it didn’t mean anything, her aunt had commented many times of the charming attitude from the prince, knowing what to say or do in a catching charisma. It still made her timid though. 

Her hand was held again as Dante guided back to his father and her aunt, who chatted about their politics and smiled when they returned, but Vergil was not there anymore. 

“Where is Vergil?” Dante asked first, letting her hand go gently, and Lyss rested both in front of her corset, the cheeks clearly a shade of pink that wasn’t there before. 

“On the balcony,” Sparda answered, tilting his head in the direction of the big double glass doors. A servant came to them, quickly, offering flute glasses of champagne, bowing slightly, when Sparda took two, one for him, one for Layre that accepted immediately, and Dante did the same, giving Lyss hers. Before leaving, Sparda took another one, offering to Lyss who raised the eyebrows in confusion. “Mind taking one for him?” 

_Oh_ , she was taken back, but accepted the glass, understanding it was the right moment to have a private conversation with him, maybe he wouldn’t be so hostile towards her by themselves, speaking of his concerns, and those could be of marrying without love, marrying a stranger. Dante encouraged her by rising his champagne and taking a sip. 

So off she went, passing by the crowd around the dance floor under the curious stares of what she was doing, but once she stepped by the balcony, she found nobody, the chilly air of the night bathing her in moonlight, the spine shivering to the change of temperatures, for then she realized how actually warm Dante was, her arms came to her torso trying to shield herself from feeling too cold. Her eyes ran the columns trying to find him in the dim light, and in the end there he was, face lost in the vision of the immensity of the garden. Her steps echoed slowly on the floor, but enough to call for his attention. 

His hair was pure blue on the night sky, the ivory of his skin also shimmering as the Moon was hitting only one side of his angular cheek, the other side touched by the light fire candelabrum by the walls, perfectly blue and red. The glassy eyes were hard and judging as she came to him, hands trying to stop shaking with the champagne, she had to confess in the middle of being so unwanted, she had a glimpse of seconds to admire his beauty, Lyss believed Vergil was somehow made out of the pages the books she read back home, the tall imperial figure, traces too beautiful to put into words, the face of his father and a person of his own. 

No words came out of her mouth, a mere arm extending to offer the glass and a prayer for him to accept it. His jaw was rigid and the pitch of his eyebrows was there, yet he did what she expected. A clean glove came for the glass, careful to not touch her fingers, not scared of her, just superior. Vergil held it, not drinking, and they stood in silence. 

Lyss licked her own lips, thinking of how to start, of how to comfort him and show her plans of taking their future as peacefully as it should be. 

“I did not agree to this marriage,” he cut her daydreams, mouth slowly performing each word, his voice was of an order, the tone higher than she thought he would sound, a timber able to be as wicked as his eyes were, showing a man who grew up giving orders, having a world between his fingers and never facing opposition, powerful filling her ears to the second rejection he had gave her. 

She was speechless, voice stuck on her cords, lost in any way to answer him, the coldness was too much, and her chest destroyed itself into a void, as her chest was held together only by the tight lacing on her back. Mind with many questions of why she was there if he didn’t wish for her, or wasn’t it a part of the deal. Sparda came to the Manor to propose, and she should be suspicious of being one-sided when the Prince wasn’t also there to agree with her. Her vision was blurring and she thought it was a great time for any guest to enter the balcony and take her out of there, but nobody came, and Lyss felt her fingers failing her, almost dropping the glass down.

Vergil saw her reaction, but no empathy, lips opening again to more words. “This is a mere hindrance in my future reign, and I will be treating you as such.”

He turned back to the garden, shoulders and chin high, ignoring her by his side as he took a sip of the glass, and his boots clicked on the floor, passing by her who remained stuck and defeated as he left the balcony. 

Lyss was shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmmmm, Vergil is really hard to write, jesus, what an asshole and this is NOT a love triangle, Dante is just that irresistible. BTW I think after DMC 5 SE and the ending where we saw vergil has mommy issues and dante has daddy issues, it was nice to kinda place them as Dante being the face of Eva and Vergil the face of Sparda who for me, is the main daddy.  
> Have you noticed any tips I give of their devil trigger? It was a lot and not almost subtle hihi  
> thanks btw  
> meha = king  
> metri = prince  
> mehani = queen

**Author's Note:**

> so this is my first ever dmc fic, I am suuuuuper rusty, i loved vergil since 2005, since 9 years old simping for this piece of trash that just can't help himself from jumping to hell like its nothing. I have many chapters written already, just need to short them out. The idea I have is kind of different in a way, feel free to ask me anything in the future in case you get confused by the laws I created for this new world. I want this to be as a fantasy of princes and princesses slowly going for the smuts I plan for this!  
> The first phase on the interlude is a language I created myself because I want to be extra for my husband. Please be kind to me, english is not my first language. Monsters fuckers, assemble! Thanks, bye!


End file.
